


if i had a hatch, i'd batten it down

by lanyon



Series: i've got your blood under my fingernails [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Community: ccbingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:43:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Go to sleep, Barton,” murmurs Coulson. </p><p>“Shut up, sir,” replies Barton. “You’re not the boss of me.”</p><p>Coulson chuckles sleepily. “’s no time to bring up your problems with authority.” He sighs softly and Barton feels inexplicably warm. </p><p>“Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes, sir.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i had a hatch, i'd batten it down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surlelac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlelac/gifts).



Barton’s lips twitch. It’s not the most sympathetic response but he can’t help it. It’s pretty funny. The Avengers and their entourage (and Phil Coulson is most definitely entourage) are in life-or-death situations pretty much every day and, yet, Coulson has managed to break his toe, in his own home.

It’s one of those inherently amusing moments. Barton spilled tea, Coulson jumped up to find a towel before the precious liquid stained his precious hardwood floor and he stubbed his toe on the coffee table. He stubbed his toe so hard that he now has an undisplaced fracture of a bone in the left fourth toe. 

Right now, Coulson is sitting on a bed in medical, scowling at his feet like they’re traitors. Barton closes his hand around one of Coulson’s ankles. He’s gratified that the man doesn’t so much as flinch. He’s less gratified when Coulson turns down any and all pain medication. Coulson’s pale enough to blend in perfectly with the white hospital walls. He doesn’t even want a crutch but he’s strong-armed into it by a particularly stubborn doctor. Barton’s just glad that it’s not him, for once. He regularly butts heads with the medical staff here and Coulson's usually the unfortunate mediator.

When Barton attempts to voice his concern at Coulson’s refusal of further treatment, Coulson actually laughs. “I’d say the shoe is on the other foot, Barton, except the idea of putting on shoes right now is rather excruciating.”

To be fair, the toe is quite swollen and bruised and it’s now securely strapped to the next toe. Coulson has nice toes when they’re not all injured and Barton doesn’t want to know where that observation arose except that his brain usually goes to strange places when he’s alone with Coulson.

‘C’mon, sir. It’s twenty degrees out there. Let’s get your socks on before I take you home.”

Coulson grits his teeth. “I hate you, Barton.”

“No you don’t, sir. For one thing, I know where you live. ” Barton is secure in his position in Coulson’s life. “And, anyway,” he adds, rather generously, “you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.”

Coulson sighs. “True enough. You’re right, Clint. You owe me.” 

Barton raises an eyebrow at the lack of formality but then he’s distracted by a far more pleasing thought. “I’ll drive. You can’t possibly-“ He stops and grins as the enormity of the occasion sinks in. “It’ll be fun sitting in the passenger seat, Agent Coulson, I promise you. You get to see the sights.”

“There are no sights in New York that I haven’t seen before,” says Coulson but he hands the keys over, all the same, only putting up token resistance when Barton tugs on the keychain. 

The application of socks turns out to be a pretty painful process but Coulson takes it like a man. They make their way out of SHIELD HQ with only a few funny looks. Coulson actually loosens his tie. Barton’s world is fairly shaken tonight.

The drive back to Coulson’s apartment is fun. It’s possible that Barton takes some of the corners too fast, if the sight of Coulson’s white knuckles on the door handle is anything to go by. 

When Coulson is settled on the couch (the scene of the crime), Barton lingers by the door. 

“Stay and have a drink with me, Clint,” says Coulson, rather unexpectedly. He nods towards the side table. “I’ll have a scotch, straight up.” His features look slightly pinched, like he can’t believe such a small bone could cause so much pain.

Barton doesn’t think to argue. He pours out two generous measures and comes to sit down next to Coulson, hesitating only slightly. Coulson’s leg is warm next to his. Before he quite knows what’s happened, the bottle of scotch is on the coffee table, nearly empty, and Coulson’s eyelids are drooping. 

In a move as smooth as that of any teenage boy on a movie date, Barton yawns, stretches and drapes his arm along the back of the couch. Gratifyingly, Coulson just leans against him, his head on Barton’s shoulder and his slightly tousled hair tickling Barton’s throat. 

Barton’s not exactly comfortable but, on the other hand, Phil Coulson is almost asleep against him. Barton moves his hand and rests his fingers on Coulson’s upper arm. If anyone were to ask, he’s certainly not cuddling his favourite SHIELD agent because he doesn’t have a favourite SHIELD agent. It’s just that Coulson is the only one who doesn’t get a wide-eyed expression when assigned to be Barton’s handler. (He tends to get this rather lazy, pleased expression with a slight upturning of his lips, like _this ought to be good_ and _Barton, talk to me_.)

“Go to sleep, Barton,” murmurs Coulson. 

“Shut up, sir,” replies Barton. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Coulson chuckles sleepily. “’s no time to bring up your problems with authority.” He sighs softly and Barton feels inexplicably warm. 

“Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> +Title from Bell X1's _Natalie_.  
>  +Huge thanks to feelschat and the various suggestions of Clint taking curves too fast and socks and sundry.  
> +Written for the 'letting someone fall asleep on them' prompt.


End file.
